Page 98 of Drop Shot
I take a centering breath and lift the ball to my racket.
Three, two, oneI count down in my head and toss the ball up, jumping as I do and hitting the ball over the net.
“Ace!”
Gaining an immediate point from your serve is always a bit of a high.
Somehow, I manage to stay in the zone and finish out the match with a win. After a quick on court interview, I’m off to stretch and meet with my team before hitting the showers.
The last thing I expect is to be cornered by Fisher as I leave the locker room.
“What the fuck?” I blurt out, my heart accelerating at being startled.
“You never texted me last night,” he says accusingly, tugging me over to one of the rest spots with a couch.
“I was tired. I forgot.”
“What. Happened.” He bites out each word. “Clearly something went on. Both those girls were spooked.”
I’m not sure how much I want or evenshouldtell Fisher.
“Why does it matter to you?” I counter. He doesn’t know I suspect him and my sister of having a relationship.
“I know both of them and therefore I care when I see two women who look traumatized out of their minds. Forgive me for being concerned.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his arms shockingly buff. He must be hitting the weights because I don’t remember him being built like that.
With a sigh, I sit down on the couch and look up at him. “Ebba’s boyfriend attacked her and Whimsy. He was drunk and shoved Whimsy and slapped Ebba. I’m not sure what kind of verbal garbage he might’ve spewed either before I arrived.” I let out a breath I think I might’ve been holding since last night. “I’m so glad I got there in time, but I wish I had gotten there sooner.”
“Boyfriend?” Fisher’s face turns a shade of red that resembles a radish.
“Hopefully, and probably most definitely, ex-boyfriend.”
Fisher shakes his head. “How awful for them. If they need anything let them know I’m happy to help.”
“I will.”
He clears his throat. “Actually, maybe don’t say anything. Don’t even let them know I asked.”
I narrow my eyes. “Okay?”
He ducks his head and practically speed walks away.
Fucking weird.
I’m not quite sure how him and Ebba think we’ve all been oblivious to their … situationship or whatever I should call it.
Gathering up my stuff, I shoulder my bag to head out.
Getting cornered by Fisher was bad enough, getting cornered by a member of the press on my way out is entirely unexpected. There are rules and they’re not supposed to bother us like this, but a microphone is shoved near my mouth, the camera barely a foot from my face—or so it feels like.
“We’re hearing word that your sister and girlfriend were attacked last night by an American named Keaton Mills. Supposedly, he’s been dating your sister. Is this correct?”
What the fuck?
I’m not sure how they have that information.
“You’re crossing a line,” I tell the woman whom I recognize from press conferences. “You shouldn’t even be over here.”
“Can you please confirm or deny?” she speaks into the mic before holding it out to me.
